Handprint From Hell
by Zach Farrell
Summary: The hand print on Dean's shoulder does more than show where Castiel gripped him tight and raised him from perdition. When they find themselves psychically linked, secrets become revealed and certain kinks are uncovered. Wing!kink. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Encounter (HFH)

**AN: This story has previously been posted, however, I have rewritten the first chapter and will begin to finish the rest of the story. The plot line is basically unchanged. **

**Handprint from Hell. **

**Chapter 1.**

Darkness surrounded him from all sides. His shoulders pressed tightly against what felt like wood, and he could smell the damp scent of soil. He could barely lift his hands to press against the lid of his wooden coffin.

It was cold. His body tingled as he felt the blood circulate, almost like it hadn't done that in a while. His legs were cramped, and his groan echoed around him when he tried to move them. His back hurt from being pressed against a flat surface.

It wasn't unlike waking from a sleep; Dean Winchester was disoriented and couldn't remember anything. Other than dying, of course. He could still feel the sharp scrape of Hellhound claws on his chest.

Was he in Hell right now? He was surrounded by darkness and could barely move. This wasn't what he'd envisioned, what with the description of it being "so bad that even its own inhabitants fear and despise it." What, are all demon's claustrophobic?

Somehow, he knew this wasn't Hell.

His suffering somewhat ended when suddenly the ground shook violently. An explosion of bright white light pierced through the cracks in the timber; the feeling reminding him of an incinerator, not that he'd ever been in one. But if he had, he knew it would compare to this situation.

The light faded as quickly as it appeared, and Dean found it easier to breathe. There was still a faint amount shining down on him, which he recognized as, or hoped it was, sunlight. All he knew was that in these situations, you tend to go to the light.

He struggled to raise his arms in the cramped box, however, before he could push, the lid was lifted. Torn would have been more correct, as Dean could see the rough edges of the wood where the nails were pulled from.

Standing over him was a tall figure. The blinding light only revealed the silhouette of a man as it shone behind him, making him appear to glow.

Dean continued to lay there for a few more seconds as his limbs continued to tingle. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he thought the guy could have been a freakin' angel for helping him out.

He struggled to his feet as he realized the man was waiting for him to move. The tingling sensation became more intense as he stood, and he almost fell forward. He caught himself at the last minute, glad he didn't fall on the stranger.

"Sammy?" He croaked out, before he discovered it wasn't his brother in front of him. The man was barely six feet tall, in a dirty trench coat covering a cheap suit. His tie hung loosely and crooked around his neck. He swore it could have been on backwards. Dean studied the man, from his crappy brown shoes, to his short brown hair, to the bright blue eyes that were watching him quizzically. Those eyes were too blue.

He realized he'd been staring and he awkwardly looked away. "Not Sammy." He grumbled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. Trench-Coat guy continued to stare.

"Uhh. Um, thanks for, y'know." He finished lamely, gesturing to the broken remains of his coffin. "That." His throat ached with every word. Dean doubted he could say much more, even though most of what he said was a growl.

The man just tilted his head slightly to the left and continued to stare. Dean waited for him to say something like "you're welcome" or offer some explanation, but he just stood there.

Moments passed, and Dean decided he'd better leave. He had to find a way to contact Sam. Maybe he knew where he was or why he was here. As he turned around, he noticed that they were standing in the middle of a field, in a hole. It appeared as though this guy blew apart the ground in order to pull Dean out of his coffin.

"Dean Winchester." Trench-Coat guy said.

He didn't bother asking how the man knew his name. He turned his head slightly so he could see the man in the corner of his eye, still standing there. He didn't respond, and he doubted his throat would co-operate with him. It was already burning now, but he resisted the urge to rub his neck.

Trench-Coat guy walked around to stand in front of him. Dean wasn't intimidated by much, but he knew he should be wary about this stranger, whom had managed to blow a hole into the ground to save him. Dean waited to see what he had to say.

"You're injured." The guy liked to point out the obvious. Dean just shrugged, a sign showing that he was fine, and he took a step sideways, around the guy. An obvious signal that he's okay, and that he's leaving.

Apparently not an obvious enough signal, as the man reached out to touch him. As though it was in slow motion, Dean watched the man as he bit his lip in concentration, his eyes trained upon his forehead as he lifted his hand. However, before Trench-Coat guy could place his two fingers on Dean's head, Dean grabbed his cheap-ass trench coat in two hands and shoved the guy backwards before climbing out of the pit and running.

He didn't hear anything after him, but he continued to run, not wanting to risk a fight when he's not a hundred percent. Dean knew he could outrun any homeless man. He also enjoyed the feeling in his muscles, as though he hadn't used them in a very long time. It didn't take long for the tingling to subside.

Everything appeared to be similar to his experiences on Earth. People walking about, cars driving passed, that kind of thing. Not that there were a lot of those where he was.

He ran to the nearest gas station. The attendant didn't look at him twice when he entered; obviously people covered in dirt were a regular occurrence around here.

Things appeared very similar to before he had died. Stores still sold pies and cars still ran on gas; no hover boards or aliens or time machines. This didn't reveal much, as he was currently in a small building in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere.

He walked over to the newspaper stand, picking up the first copy. His eyes searched for the date. It read 'September 18, 2008' and the front page featured something about a freak mining accident.

Dean had been in Hell for three months. That was all.

He knew something was wrong. The more he found out, the more questions he had, and the more answers he needed. Dean knew he needed to find Sammy.

There wasn't anyone around, so Dean subdued the cashier quickly. He quickly scooped out some money from the register and began packing supplies. He drank water as he packed; his voice somewhat returning but still sounding gruff.

Taking a fresh pair of clothes and bandages, Dean went to have a shower at the back of the store. The bathroom was small but the water was hot, and Dean was glad to wash the dirt off his body.

He examined his body in the mirror, locating all his cuts and bruises. He still had the cuts from the Hellhound claws on his chest, however, they appeared to be slight scrapes and not the shredded mess he'd been when he died. The most surprising, however, was the handprint-shaped welt on his shoulder. He tentatively poked at it and hissed at the pain that shot through his arm.

Putting it out of his mind, he began bandaging his torso and shoulder. The end result was that Dean looked somewhat like a badly wrapped cartoon mummy.

At the pay phone, Dean began calling every number he could remember of Sam's. Each number he called said that the phone had been disconnected. He threw the phone down in frustration before something occurred to him.

His mind went back to the lone newspaper he had read earlier. The freak mining accident in Columbus, Ohio. Dean hoped Sammy found enough in that case to check it out, and suspected that's where he's headed.

He ran back into the store and snatched the newspaper up before going to hotwire the cashiers' car. He threw his supplies into the passenger seat before he drove off, steering wheel in one hand and a pie in the other.

It didn't take him long to get there from Pontiac, Illinois. He made a few stops; he switched cars and clothes, and got a room in a small hotel nearby. He'd asked for the room closest to the exit, his usual room, but it was unavailable. Dean suspected Sam was staying there.

His suspicions were confirmed a few minutes later, after he picked the lock. This motel wasn't as trashy as the ones the brothers would frequent in the past. It had a decent view, of the parking lot anyway, and the pink floral wallpaper wasn't too bad if you hit your head on it a few times.

The room was easy to navigate; it seemed Sam hadn't changed much in the past 3 months. Pictures were stuck on the walls and books strewn over the small table. Dad's journal was even sitting on the bedside table, and Dean stroked his fingers over it lightly.

He looked through the clues in hopes to find where Sam would have gone. From what Dean could see, Sam had connected the mining accident to a similar one that happened 60 years earlier. Dean knew that if he was on the case, he'd be at the site, so that's where he'd find Sam.

As he was sitting on Sam's bed reading through his notes, he suddenly realized how exhausted he was. Dean felt considerably weak, and he assumed this was due to the lack of mobility in his body for three months. He decided to rest for a while, and perhaps he'd surprise Sam when he came back. It wasn't surprising, really, that he fell asleep.

His dreams were filled with Hellfire. Dean couldn't remember what had happened to him in Hell, but he remembered the heat. The heat that made his body tingle, like it did now, and it was a familiar feeling. The fire burnt black, but there were unfamiliar flashes of white; flashes that made the fire burn hotter. He couldn't see him, but Sam was there, too, calling his name.

"Dean?" Sam called out, hesitantly. "DEAN!"

Dean bolted upright from the bed, sitting back against the headboard. Blinded momentarily, Dean fumbled for the gun under the pillow before he realised he didn't have one. He calmed when he realized it was Sam that called out to him.

"Sam-" Dean started scratchily, intending to reassure his brother about his appearance, but as his eyes sought out Sam standing near the couch, he stopped speaking when he realized there was another person in the room.

It was the fucking /_Trench Coat guy_/.

It took Dean a few seconds to realize the guy was talking.

"…I mean no harm to Dean." He was saying, and Dean saw with incredibility that Sam wasn't worried, or too surprised, about his brother.

"Dean?" He called again, looking over at his brother uncertainly, as if he didn't believe he was actually alive. When he was sleeping, Dean still looked dead.

Dean regretted sleeping. His whole body ached and the tingling had returned with vengeance. He managed a weak smile at Sam before he was enveloped in a warm hug. He hissed as Sam came into contact with the scratches and the burn, and Sam moved back to sit next to him on the bed.

Trench Coat guy moved forward to stand beside the bed. "I am here to help Dean." He said to Sam, who just continued to stare at Dean.

Dean spoke before Sam could. "I have," He paused to cough, but that made his voice worse, "no i-ide-a who he isss." He was embarrassed by the weakness of his voice.

"I am Castiel." Trench Coat guy said, at the same time Sam said, "He's an angel."

"Cas... Angel?!" He choked out. "You know," Cough, "I don't believe in that crap, Sammy."

"I am an angel of the Lord." Was all Castiel replied with, and Dean just sighed before laying back down on the bed. He had so many questions, but his throat was on fire. And when would that damn tingling /stop/?

He heard Sam and Trench Coat guy talking, but he didn't listen. If he did listen, perhaps he'd have heard the familiarity in which they spoke. Instead, he rolled over to find a more comfortable position to sleep in. The tingling radiated up and down his legs and arms, and no matter how hard he fidgeted, it didn't settle down.

"Dean, what happened to you?" Sam called out, walking over. Dean just looked over his shoulder with a cocked eyebrow before realizing his shirt had lifted and Sam was staring at his bandages.

"H…Hellhound." He managed to rasp as he pulled his shirt down. He gave Sam the look that said he was fine, but Sam wasn't convinced.

"What about your voice?"

Dean just shrugged before rolling onto his back and sitting up. He looked over at Castiel and gestured for him to talk, but all he received in response was a head tilt and quizzical blue eyes staring at him.

Luckily, Sam translated. "Do you know what happened to Dean?"

"It appears the injuries inflicted upon Dean's body were unable to be healed while he was dead." Castiel didn't elaborate, and Dean was starting to get angry. That didn't exactly explain what had happened. He wanted to know why he was back and who this guy was. He didn't appear dangerous, but anyone would could blow a hole in the ground made Dean wary. Sam trusted him, but that wasn't good enough for Dean.

His thoughts were interrupted by Sam. "Is that okay, Dean?"

"What?" Dean croaked. He was contemplating ripping his throat out.

"Castiel would like to heal you." Sam said, and Castiel began walking over to Dean.

Dean jumped out of the bed but couldn't get past his brother and the angel. He barely choked out a "What? No!" before suddenly there were two fingers pressed to his forehead.

He began to feel the strange sensation of his skin knitting together all over his chest, as the Hellhound claw marks began to heal. His neck was the worst to heal, the process felt as though his windpipe was being crushed. It probably didn't help that he was fighting this.

He started to feel lightheaded as his breathing became shallow. He knew he was going to pass out. Before he could fall, however, the fingers left his forehead and two strong hands gripped his shoulders before lowering him onto the bed. He was unconscious before his head reached the pillow.

Castiel was frowning down at Dean, and Sam looked worriedly between the two of them.

"Is he okay now?" He asked impatiently as Castiel just stared at his brother. Sam noticed that all the little cuts and bruises he could see on Dean's face and arms were gone, and he sighed in relief.

"Dean is asleep." The guy loved stating the obvious. He kept watching Dean, his head tilted to the left, and then swapping to the right as his eyebrows knit together. Sam watched the process and couldn't help but chuckle. Castiel didn't even look his way, he just kept staring.

After a few awkward minutes, he shuffled on the spot and cleared his throat, finally getting Castiel's attention. "So…" He muttered awkwardly, hesitating slightly before gaining the confidence to ask how the angel had managed to save Dean.

Castiel spoke before he got the chance, his eyes falling back upon his brother. "Does Dean usually dream about pie?"

Sam didn't bother answering.


	2. Chapter 2

**Handprint from Hell.**

**Chapter 2.**

Nightmares filled with the deep rumble of _'Dean, Dean, Dean'_ led him to believe he was being haunted by his time in Hell. There was more conversation, of course, but Dean could only make out a few words, those of which didn't help him understand what was going on.

"…Demon…the…Dean…angel…" The voice continued, Dean's name being the loudest. He couldn't pinpoint the exact location of the voice, however. It was like it surrounded him, at times far away or whispering in his ear.

He was standing in Hellfire, he assumed, as the black flames appeared almost alive. They required no fuel source and never burnt out. Dean couldn't see beyond them, but he could hear the frequent distant-sounding screams that pierced the air. The other voice, however, was a lot closer, and each word made Dean spin around as if to see the demon with the voice standing right behind him.

One last shout of 'Dean' jolted him from his sleep.

His head shot around the hotel room, identifying that both he and Sam were safe. A look at his phone (returned by Sam) showed it was only 0400. The voice still echoed around his head, left over from his dream.

This was only the second nightmare he'd had, but he was sick of them already. He'd much rather dream about something mundane, like pie.

His stomach growled at that, but Dean decided that four a.m. was too early for a pie run.

He laid back against the bed and closed his eyes. He breathed slowly in and out of his nose, a method he learnt from Sam for whenever he had trouble sleeping. Breathe in, 1, 2, breathe out. Slowly Dean began to relax and clear his mind.

He was on the verge of falling asleep when he heard it again.

_Dean._ This time the voice was clearer, sounding more familiar. Dean opened one eye to peer around the hotel room one last time, but before he could close it, the voice spoke again_. See…_ It whispered. _Protection._

He searched the room and found nothing even remotely symbolising a threat. Deciding that he was just paranoid after his nightmare, Dean decided that four a.m. was indeed a suitable time for pie.

Dean slipped back into his role as hunter with a familiar ease. He was able to help (and by help, he meant sit back and encourage Sam's inner-nerd) with the research that enabled them to locate that the mine was related to demon activity.

"Get this, apparently a guy back in the 40's sold his soul for the success of the mine." Sam said, as Dean practically inhaled the bacon cheeseburger he'd recently purchased. Dean hummed his response, and Sam continued. "And then for the next 60 years, there has been a similar accident to this each decade."

Dean attempted to pay more attention to his brother and the details of his hunt, but he was distracted by the voice that had not shut up since his dream this morning. He resisted reaching up to rub his temples as the voice grated on in unintelligible words. Nightmares were bad enough, why did he have to experience this throughout the day?

_Shut up_. Dean thought, before realising he was basically talking to himself.

"Dean?" Sam's voice broke through, and he looked over to see his younger brother looking at him worriedly. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Dean replied. "Yeah, don't worry about me. Just didn't get enough sleep." Dean was fairly sure he'd slept for around twelve hours, actually, but the nightmares made it feel as though he'd stayed up all night banging his head on the stupid floral-print wallpaper.

"You should stay here while I go check out the mine." Sammy said, but Dean instantly refused.

"No way. No way in H-" Dean couldn't bring himself to say the word. "I'm not letting you go without back-up." It was obvious that Sam would be able to handle himself in that situation, but Dean's protectiveness kicked in.

Sam considered it for a second. "I suppose I could call Castiel."

It took Dean a few seconds to realize who 'Castiel' was. The fucking "angel" who had pulled him out of hell. With the baggy trench coat and piercing blue eyes.

_Dean._

"Hey, what about Bobby?" Dean suddenly realized that he'd forgotten about Bobby since his return. He felt guilty instantly that he'd forgotten about his father-figure since he'd been back. He was excited to see the old man again. He wondered if much had changed.

"We're in Ohio, Dean." Sam said, as if that made perfect sense. "We only have a limited amount of time to find this demon before it disappears again-"

Dean nodded in agreement as he began to plan his trip to see Bobby. It would have to be after the hunt, of course. He wondered if Bobby would be happy to see him alive.

He could hear the faint sound of Sam talking in the background.

_Bobby_. He heard, and he continued nodding absentmindedly.

"Yeah, Bobby." He replied, and Sam looked over at him strangely.

"You say something, Dean?"

"Oh, ah. No, no. What were you saying?" Dean asked, looking away as Sam glared at him for not paying attention.

Secretly, Sam missed having his brother around, and he was glad that Castiel had been able to save him. "I was telling you about the interviews I had with the victims' families."

That left the only logical solution being the voice in Dean's head mentioning Bobby. Well, not that hearing voices was logical. But in this situation, it was. More words were floating around, mentioning this and that about demonic activity.

He decided that he'd just have to ignore the voice and focus on this hunt with Sammy. They decided that Dean should go look around the crime scenes and join Sam to talk with the people the victims were close to.

"I'm going to go shower." Dean said, grabbing his clothes before racing to the bathroom and shutting the door on Sam's face. Older brother privileges, of course!

As the hot water cascaded over his body, Dean attempted to make sense of what he'd found out through the voice that was constantly in his head. He had his eyes closed as he washed his body, listening to his name being repeated. However, as his hand moved over his shoulder, he received a bright white flash through his mind that lit up an old looking motel.

_Motel_. Dean could hear. _Room 43. _

He opened his eyes to stare as the dull white tiles in the shower, thinking that perhaps that's the white he saw, and that it wasn't anything like Sammy's visions. It wasn't impossible after his time in Demon Central. He finished his shower quickly after that.

In the mirror, Dean was surprised to see absolutely no scars on his body. None from the Hellhound or from any of the previous hunts he'd been on with Sammy. The only mark on his otherwise unblemished skin was the red handprint, from where Castiel had 'gripped him tight and raised him from perdition'.

Dean wondered why Castiel had saved him as he gently poked the mark, when suddenly Sam flashed before his eyes. Yes, of course. But what had Sam done in order for an angel to save his brother?

He dressed quickly and opened the bathroom door to see Sam staring into thin air.

"Sammy?" Dean called awkwardly, and Sam's head whipped around the room before looking at him. "Your turn for the shower." He decided to confront Sam when he finished in the bathroom. It didn't take long; Dean used up all the hot water like usual.

Sam started talking about the case as he walked out of the bathroom, information about those they were going to question. Dean cut him off. "Why was I buried?" He looked over to see Sam shuffling nervously. This question had been in his mind since he came back, as hunters were usually salted and burned to prevent the creation of a spirit.

"I knew you'd need your body when I brought you back."

Dean went to the fridge and grabbed two beers, knowing he'd need them for this conversation. Sam sighed, taking one before sitting on his bed. He took a sip before telling the story.

"I knew I had to get you back, Dean." Sam started. "Bobby wanted to salt and burn, the usual."

Dean interrupted. "How'd you escape Lilith? And what happened to Ruby?"

"Lilith seemed pretty keen to leave after the Hellhounds got you, taking Ruby with her. They've been gone since then." Dean nodded his head, accepting the answer. "I spent a long time trying to make deals to save you, Dean, but no demon would do it. Not a chance. I never gave up, though. I went everywhere, to every state. I met all types of psychics, pagan gods, everything, but nothing worked. Until suddenly, I received an answer."

Sam paused to take a drink, and Dean gripped his bottle tightly. His knuckles were white, much like the rest of his skin from his time 6 feet under.

"I prayed for you, Dean. Every day and every night. And I know you don't believe in that stuff," Sam said as Dean opened his mouth, "but it worked. One night I was visited by an archangel and a soldier, Gabriel and Castiel. Gabriel was gravely injured, and I was struck a deal."

Sam gulped the rest of his beer before getting up and pacing, dragging his fingers through his long hair. "I was to merge my life force with that of the archangel, and in return, Castiel would pull you out of Hell."

It took all of Dean's energy not to explode with rage at that point. But he trusted Sam, and owed it to him to hear him out.

Sam was babbling. "-probably think this was a bad move, but I needed you back, Dean, and Gabe isn't so bad-."

"So you went to Vegas and shacked up with an angel dude just to save me?" Dean cut in, thankful his words didn't express his emotions.

"Basically." He replied, shrugging. "But it worked! I got you back, Dean."

"And how'd you end up working a demonic case in Ohio?" Dean wondered why Sam hadn't been tracking Lilith or trying to find Ruby.

Sam went on to explain the conditions of the deal made with Gabe and Castiel, and how he'd continued hunting while they rescued Dean and searched for Lilith. He also told Dean about Bobby, who'd left after Dean had died. It was rumoured that he'd died, but Sam checked in regularly enough to know that he was more than likely just passed out from the excessive amounts of alcohol he drank.

Dean was shocked that Bobby didn't even look after Sam. That was all Dean had done, and Bobby knew that Dean would stop at nothing to protect his brother, so why hadn't he done what Dean couldn't?

Sam could sense Dean's anger. "He's had a rough time, Dean. He couldn't handle losing you."

Dean finally snapped. "So he didn't do anything for you?! You could have died!"

"But I didn't, Dean! I was fine, I am fine. I didn't need Bobby to protect me. I'm old enough to hunt by myself."

Dean began feeling just a little bit guilty. He had no reason to be angry at Bobby; he knew just how stubborn his little brother could be.

Sam knew his brother wouldn't be angry at Bobby for long. "I don't know the exact details of how Castiel rescued you. He wouldn't let me be there when he got you, said something about it being dangerous."

"So he stuck you on a demonic case? Good one, Cas." Dean snorted. His resurrection, or what he remembers of it, wasn't very dangerous.

If Dean was paying attention, he'd have noticed the small smile on his brothers' lips, but he was preoccupied with the fact that he hadn't heard any thoughts in a while. Any thoughts that weren't his own, that was. Currently, his own thoughts were racing, trying to piece together everything he'd found out.

Sam grabbed the keys and they walked out into the parking lot.

"Do I get to meet this 'Gabriel' guy?" Dean asked Sam, who looked at him in surprise. "What? You don't want me to meet your boyfriend?"

"Don't call him that." Sam said, sulkily, but the smile he shot Dean after that let him know he wasn't upset about it. He said nothing after that, and Dean had a feeling Sam didn't want him to meet this archangel.

(~*~)

"Officer Hawke, this is my partner, Detective Howe." Sam said as Dean flashed his badge at the short pudgy man. "And I'm Detective-"

"Scott, I remember." The officer said, his voice deeper than Dean would have suspected. "I still don't know why the FBI are involved." He muttered, more to himself. Sam smiled at him, acting as though he hadn't heard, while Dean walked over to a pin board that had the details of the case. There wasn't much; this was an 'accident' after all.

The police department had, as it seems, linked this case to the one from the 50's, and Dean's eyes trailed over the faces of the numerous victims of this accident. It seemed that there were survivors, which he made a mental note to talk to Sam about.

Suddenly, as though his good luck was running out, the voice popped back into his head.

_Sam._

Dean whipped his head around, his green eyes seeking the tall form of his younger brother, still deep in conversation with the police officer. Was this voice like a warning system for demons? He navigated his way back to them, keeping an eye out in case of a sudden attack.

_Dean._

He reached them as Officer Hawke was telling Sam about the victims. "There were eye witnesses?" Dean cut in, and the old man blinked up at him in surprise.

"Four." He responded gruffly. "Three of the miners, and a little girl."

"Reports on them?" Dean responded, eyes still sweeping around the small police station, as if suddenly someone would pull a knife on them.

The man waddled over to his desk. "Uh, one in a coma, one didn't see anything, and the other report is sketchy." He passed the folders over to Dean, who began to read them.

"Which report is missing?" Sam asked for him, already knowing the answer. It wasn't surprising that the next words out of Officer Hawke's mouth were "Little girl."

Dean pressed his hand to his temple as suddenly more words broke through his thoughts.

_Danger. _He heard. _Stupid. _The rest of the words were jumbled.

"Excuse me." Dean heard himself saying. He handed the folders over to Sam, who looked at him with a confused expression on his face before making up a story about a recent head injury that affected Dean's wellbeing.

"Should he be working?" Was the last thing Dean heard before he pushed open the glass doors, almost running into another officer. He didn't even apologize, he just pushed passed and turned into a nearby alley. He pressed the heels of his hands over his closed eyelids until he saw red.

The thoughts bombarded his brain; it sounded like most of them weren't in English. The pressure built up and was so intense that Dean groaned out in pain. He wished he could make the pain go away.

Suddenly, however, the thoughts stopped. Almost too hopeful, Dean removed the hands from his face.

He jumped back as he realized he wasn't alone, his head hitting painfully against the brick wall behind him. Surprisingly, it wasn't Sam in front of him. "What do you want, Cas?"

Castiel tilted his head to the right as he continued to look up at Dean. The hunter shifted nervously under the gaze but didn't look away.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Dean. You called for me."

Before Dean could respond, Sam appeared. He looked between his brother and Castiel, who obviously didn't know about personal space. Dean tried to back up a little at the awkward situation, but he was already pressed against a wall.

"Castiel? I didn't know- Is something wrong?" Sam asked him, and Dean could see the worry in his face. Apparently Castiel knew what Sam meant, as he answered his unasked question.

"Gabriel is as well as can be expected." Sam let out a sigh of relief at this. "I am here for Dean."

"Personal space!" Dean blurted out, moving away from his position on the wall. "And how did you find me? I never called for you, Cas."

"You were praying for assistance."

"Not intentionally." Dean muttered as Sam looked at him in disbelief. "I didn't call the guy." He gestured in confusion as Sam continued to look at him.

"Whatever." Sam muttered in reply. Then, in an unforeseen turn of events, Sam walked over and put his hand on Castiel's shoulder, as if it was a normal thing to do, which it obviously wasn't.

In the blink of an eye, Castiel had his hand on Dean's shoulder and they whipped through the air. His hand was warm through Dean's layers of clothes.

_Dean is very strange. _

When they landed in the motel room a few short seconds later, Dean moved out from under Castiel's touch.

"You're very strange." He whispered back, to no one.

"Did you say something, Dean?" Sam asked, still worried about Dean after his reaction in the police station.

"No." Dean said. "No, I didn't."

He turned away and headed to his bed, his back turned against Castiel's very confused and quizzical stare.


End file.
